


Eventuality

by harleydavidsonny



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, not beta read we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:41:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harleydavidsonny/pseuds/harleydavidsonny
Summary: Eighth year at Hogwarts was supposed to be a fresh start. It was supposed to be a chance for the kids affected by the war to regain some sense of normalcy, but there are still old wounds that fester just under the surface.Harry never thought he'd be the one to defend Draco Malfoy, of all people.Draco never thought he'd even have chance to be around Harry Potter.Life has a way of turning expectations around.(I'm not great at summaries, just read the damn thing.)Not beta read because if anyone I know found this I would die
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley - Relationship
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

Eighth year at Hogwarts was not going well for one Harry Potter.  
He’d never really been comfortable with the reverence, bordering on hero-worship, that he received from the younger students (and even some of the teachers), and after the war it had reached an all time high. He knew it must be grating on Hermione and Ron’s nerves as well, as much as they laughed along with him whenever some unfortunate first-year confronted him and announced that Harry was the greatest wizard in history.  
He wasn’t, and that’s what made it so uncomfortable for him.  
He wasn’t a great student, that was Hermione. She still poured all of her energy into schoolwork, determined to live up to her moniker of “the brightest witch of our generation”. Harry knew she’d make a great Minister of Magic, if she ever stooped to governmental work.  
He wasn’t witty and quick, not like Ron. The redhead could easily gloss over an awkward pause following the mention of one of their dead classmates or friends, and he could beat anyone in a game of Wizard’s chess, even Hermione.  
He wasn’t anything like this character people expected him to be, the strong and kind leader. He felt like an imposter in his own skin, and when people asked him how he defeated Voldemort, how he could take abuse from Umbridge without cracking, how he could live on after the horrors of his youth, he usually gave some lame approximation of “I couldn’t have done it on my own”.  
Which was completely true.  
To be honest, Harry felt like he was barely holding it together. Ron and Hermione were the only people he felt he could trust with this information, after he and Ginny had split over the summer. She deserved someone who could match her relentless, fiery energy, not someone who laid in bed replaying the events of years past, sometimes well into the afternoon.  
She deserved someone who deserved her.  
The breakup hurt less than he expected it to, and she was still a close friend. He just felt so out of sync with the world that it was hard to talk to anyone but those who had been there with him, those months of hunting horcruxes, those weeks of hopeless, frantic searching. Those who hadn’t been personally touched by Voldemort and his Death Eaters.  
So he went to class, he sat in the eighth year common room and made small talk, he ate dinner, and he relived the war.  
That was the life of Harry James Potter, The Boy Who Lived Twice.  
He almost wishes he’d died.

Eighth year at Hogwarts was not going well for one Draco Malfoy.  
The constant disgusted stares, the muttering, the curses and hexes and jinxes that followed him down the halls, into classrooms, into his own head were about to drive him absolutely mad.  
Well, more mad than he already was. It was hard to sleep, he discovered, with the constant screams of innocent muggleborns stuck on replay. Almost every morning, he’d wake up with a cry stuck in his throat, only to realize the waking world wasn’t much better.  
Pansy and Goyle were the only ones privy to the Draco behind the cold, aloof mask he put on during the day, the unflappable ex-Death Eater who seemed completely above everyone else, above the mourning and death and regrets of the churning masses. More than once, Pansy had fetched Draco from the hospital wing with injuries ranging from a Stinging Hex to a Cruciatus Curse. She would walk him down to the dungeons, never commenting on his injuries.  
He was grateful.  
To the world, Draco was the model of a reformed Death Eater, apologizing and taking whatever abuse came his way without a single complaint. He dressed impeccably, but not flashily. He performed well in school, but never the top of the class. He ate with a small group of other outcasts, didn’t sit in the eighth year common room. He was the ghost of a fallen empire, a refugee nobody wanted.  
Nobody knew that he was terrified, full of fear and loathing. He averted his eyes whenever he came into contact with another student outside of his house, silently willing them to just leave him alone .Nobody knew he went to sleep biting his knuckles and praying to whatever God would listen to make him a better person, a better man. To make him someone like Harry Potter, the hero, the downfall of Voldemort, not the living, breathing definition of hate and prejudice and murder that people could take their anger and grief out on.  
That was the life of Draco Malfoy, disgraced ex-Death Eater.  
He wishes someone had killed him while they had the chance.


	2. Not Ideal

It happened a lot, enough to where Draco though he’d just get used to it eventually. But then again, it’s not really possible to get used to someone beating the absolute fire out of you because you looked at them the wrong way. Another day, another cracked rib, another reminder that no matter how hard he tried, he’d always be tainted by the stupid mark on his arm, tainted by the sins of his parents.  
He didn’t even try to defend himself, not really. He knew there were too many risks to hexing them back, because no matter how much everyone here hated him, he would rather die than leave Hogwarts without finishing properly. And it seemed like he was going to be doing the former, if these fifth year punks had anything to say about it. They had hit him again and again with Stunning spells, Stinging Hexes, Body-Bind Jinxes, until his face was nearly unrecognizable and he was struggling to breathe. It was leagues better than the Cruciatus Curse, but he suspected that had they the magical ability, they would be testing that out on him as well.  
“Weak Death Eater scum,” They spat on him, snickering and no doubt feeling like such little heroes. “If you knew what you deserved, you’d just die already.” They weren’t wrong. If he had just had the courage to die when he was supposed to, he wouldn’t be in all this mess.  
God, this fucking hurt. The pain radiated from his chest all the way up to his neck, choking him. The fish years were quickly losing interest in Draco’s lack of reaction. He had learned from experience to just stay still.  
“Come on, we have better things to do. If he knows what’s best for the Wizarding world and himself, he’ll just go ahead and die.” After getting in a few last kicks to Draco’s already damaged ribs, they swept out of the classroom, leaving the blonde to lay gasping for breath on the dirty stone floor.  
After making sure they had left for good, Draco tried to sit up, but black spots began to blot out his vision. He rested his face on the cold stone of the dungeon classroom, letting its coolness seep into the hot pain now making a home at the base of his skull. Maybe he’d just die here, it wouldn’t be too hard to just Avada Kedavra himself right here and now. At least this fucking pain would be gone behind the veil…  
Draco didn’t know how long he was on the floor, but one thing is for certain, he would have rather had literally anyone, including Voldemort himself, shake him awake. But no, he had to swim into consciousness staring at the bright green eyes and utterly ridiculous hair of Harry fucking Potter. Of course.  
“… you doing here? Malfoy, what happened?” Potter’s sickeningly concerned voice made the pounding in Draco’s head even worse. Draco tried to tell him to sod off, but even thinking of speaking hurt. He settled for squeezing his eyes shut and drawing in another gurgling breath, managing to hoist himself into a sitting position. He was already humiliated beyond belief, so he used the last of his strength to plead with Harry Potter. Typical.  
“H-ostpital wing,” Draco ground out before succumbing to the dark dots dancing across his vision, taking him away from his beaten body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Malfoy, I believe his pride is hurt more than anything. Drop a comment and a kudos, and let me know what ya'll want to see!


	3. Chapter 3

Of all the people Harry Potter wanted to see today, Draco Malfoy was one that hadn’t even crossed his mind. The blonde hadn’t been causing any trouble since they’d all returned to Hogwarts. In fact, Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the tall Slytherin outside of the Great Hall. Many of the eighth years stuck together, preferring the company of those who had been at the final battle over younger students who hadn’t experienced the horrors of war firsthand. Harry was content to sit and chat with Neville and Luna, go out to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione, and generally tried to get along with everyone else as best he could. Harry was even on good terms with most of the Slytherins, as hard as it was for him to let go of old prejudices.   
Malfoy was different. He saw that the tall boy stuck with Parkinson, Goyle, and Zabini at mealtimes, but Harry hadn’t seen him at all other than that. A wave of guilt passed over him as he realized that this was probably not the first time this had happened to the Slytherin.   
Harry had been walking alone, trying to calm himself. Some ignorant third year had, probably on a dare, asked what it had felt like to kill Voldemort, in that hushed, awed tone younger kids took on when they spoke to him or anyone else who fought in the war. His stomach turned as he thought about it, the fascination bordering on hunger in the child’s eye. He had made some lame excuse about forgetting his bag, and ended up here, reminiscing once again about the war and what he could have done differently. He knew that Voldemort had to die, there was no getting around that, but the guilt of taking another person’s life weighed heavy on him still, and to think there were kids wishing that they'd been there to fight? He was ashamed at how angry he got when he heard third years boasting about what they would have done if they were at the battle of Hogwarts. Harry didn't have the heart to tell them they would probably just be another name in the still-growing list of casualties.   
He was pulled out of his thoughts by a group of younger students emerging from a classroom, looking right satisfied with themselves. They were a motley crew of two Gryffindors, a Ravenclaw, and two Hufflepuffs, and they had the look of trouble on them as they swept by him, snickering.  
“All right, Harry?” One of the Gryffindors that Harry faintly recognized called out to him as they passed. He raised a hand in greeting, and headed towards the classroom they had vacated. He was young once too, and he wanted to make sure there wasn’t any evidence of their mischief. He chuckled to himself, thinking of the time they had made Polyjuice potion in a bathroom stall, and all the other trouble he and Ron and Hermione had caused, but he stopped short at the sight of the body on the stone floor. It was Draco Malfoy.   
Harry rushed over to the other boy, crouching down beside him. His face was positively purple, beaten and bloody. There was a sizable pool of blood congealing beneath his silvery hair, but Harry could hear him breathing laboriously.   
At least he’s not dead, Harry thought, oddly rational in this situation. Habit, he thought absently. He shook Malfoy’s shoulder as gently as he could, wincing as the blonde’s grey eyes rolled into view and registered his presence.   
“What are you doing here? Malfoy, what happened?” Harry questioned hysterically. The other boy was black and blue and swollen, reminding him horribly of the corpses in the lake. Malfoy winced, squeezing his eyes shut and drawing in a breath with difficulty. Harry could hear the liquid in his lungs gurgling as he just barely managed to sit up, swaying. He mumbled something nearly inaudible.   
“H-ostpital wing,” He rasped before collapsing forwards onto Harry’s shoulder. A quick glance confirmed he was unconscious, and the sight of blood trickling out of his ear spurred Harry into action.   
Scooping Malfoy into his arms, careful to avoid touching his chest, he strode out into the hallway. He was beyond anger, he was livid. It must have been those kids, who else could it have been? Who the fuck did those kids think they were, trying to play hero? What had Malfoy done to them?   
Malfoy let out a soft noise, and Harry realized he had a death grip on the other. Harry quickly relaxed his grip, and adjusted Malfoy so that his head was resting on Harry’s shoulder. He knew that there was blood seeping into his robes, but he was beyond caring.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry burst through the door of the hospital wing. He had gotten increasingly angry as he made his way through the halls of Hogwarts, the place he had always felt safest. For this kind of abuse to be going on, someone had to know. It reminded him of growing up on Privet Drive, the way the neighbors would turn a blind eye to Harry’s obvious malnutrition and the bruises that marked his body. He though that the Wizarding World was different, thought that they would and could correct injustice when they saw it. He was obviously, glaringly wrong, he though at he looked at Malfoy’s unconscious body.   
“Madam Pomfrey!” Harry called. She quickly rounded the corner with a murderous gleam in her eye.  
“Now listen here, this is a place of healing not cavor- oh.” The anger melted off of her face and became something more resigned. “Mister Malfoy, once again.”   
“Once again? What do you mean, once again?” Harry nearly shouted at the healer, who just sighed and pointed towards an unoccupied bed.  
“He comes in here, or rather, some unfortunate soul drags him here at least a few times a month.” She paused as Harry gently sat the other boy onto the white sheets, checking his breathing. “This is the worst I’ve seen the poor boy. You didn’t happen to have any part in this?” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and Harry felt his cheeks heat.  
“Of course not! I just thought it was common courtesy to help someone who has obviously been beaten within an inch of his bloody life.” Harry knelt wasn’t Madam Pomfrey’s fault, but he couldn’t help the anger rising in him.   
“Just making sure, Potter. You two haven’t exactly been friendly in the past.” She was right there, Harry thought. Up until Malfoy had helped them escape the Manor, Harry had downright detested him.   
“Well, if there’s nothing else, I think I’ll patch him up now if you don’t mind.” Madam Pomfrey herded him towards the door.  
“Do you mind if I come later to check on him?” The words were out of his mouth before he had even registered them, and he flushed, realizing how odd it sounded. Madam Pomfrey let out a disbelieving snort, but ultimately agreed.   
Once outside of the hospital wing, Harry went straight back up to the eighth year common room, seeking out Ron and Hermione. They must have seen the anger in his face, because Ron took a step back as he stepped through the portrait hole and approached them.   
“Harry, mate, you look like someone snapped your wand,” He put a bracing arm on Harry’s shoulder. “Is everything alright?”   
“It’s Malfoy,” he began. Ron and Hermione let out a simultaneous groan.   
“What kind of dastardly scheme is he up to now? Bullying first years?’ Ron joked.  
“No, shut up and listen to me, both of you.” They sobered up immediately, and Harry relayed the story of finding Malfoy unconscious to them both. By the end of it, Hermione looked almost as angry as Harry, but Ron seemed oddly subdued.  
“That’s horrible, Harry! You’d think that the Wizarding world would have had enough of fighting for a good long while.” She shook her head. “Honestly, you should tell McGonagall about this, she’ll be able to do something.” Harry nodded, but Ron spoke up in an uncertain voice.  
“Look Harry, I know you’re upset about this but, well, don’t you think he might have… deserved it? After all his family did in the war-“  
“Listen, I know he’s a right prick, but nobody deserves to be held accountable for things their family has done. He hasn’t done anything to us this year, hell, I rarely ever see him besides in the Great Hall,” Harry protested. Hermione raised her eyebrows at the mention of Harry looking for Malfoy, but said nothing of it.   
“You’re right Harry, but Ron does have a point. He kind of is a living reminder of the war, and some people might not be as forgiving as you,” She pointed out.   
Harry had to admit she had a point, but it still rubbed him the wrong way.   
“I understand that, but those kids that did it weren’t fighting in the war at all, they were too young. Any way you spin it, it’s not okay for anyone to just get- assaulted here, no matter what they did.” Harry rubbed his thumbs over the white scars on the back of his hand, I must not tell lies. He saw Hermione do the same, mapping out the raised Mudblood on hers. He met her eyes. Nobody should have to fear for their safety here.   
“I told Madam Pomfrey I’d be back to check on him, see if he’s alright,” Harry told them. Both of their eyebrows raised, almost perfectly in sync. Harry rolled his eyes at them.  
“Just making sure he’s good. He took a hell of a beating.” Hermione’s eyes softened, remembering when Harry used to show up at the Burrow at the end of the summer, bruised and malnourished.  
“Alright, Harry. We’re going to go study for Potions.” Hermione said, waving him away. “Come join us when you get back.”  
“‘Mione, we don’t have anything due in there until Friday!” Ron whined  
“Yes, and it’s Wednesday, Ronald! I won’t have you breathing down my neck all class because you refuse to apply yourself.” Harry made a quick escape in the midst of their bickering, making his way back down to the hospital wing.


	5. Chapter 5

Draco awoke to the familiar stabbing pain of a bone repair potion. He opened his eyes to the familiar sterile environment of the hospital wing. He could hear Madam Pomfrey talking to someone just outside of his curtain.  
His chest still ached, sending out shooting pain whenever he tried to move quickly. His head felt much better though, and he raised a hand to his face to find most of the damage had been taken care of. He always felt at peace in the hospital wing, soothed by the odd but comforting smell of antiseptic and the quiet art of healing. He’d always wanted to be a healer, but of course nobody would trust Lucius Malfoy’s son to do so much as put on a bandage.  
The curtains opened, and Draco was pulled out of his thoughts by Madam Pomfrey handing him yet another elixir. He drank it without question, feeling the calming effects almost immediately. He should really invest in some of these.  
“Draco, you’ve got a visitor if you’d like to see them.” Madam Pomfrey said lowly, and gave him a look that told him she would get rid of them if he gave the word. He really did like the older healer.  
“Send them in, Poppy. Thank you, though.” He smiled at her, and she disappeared. Pansy usually came to fetch him fairly quickly, but he was going to stay for just awhile longer to let the pain in his chest fade.  
“Pansy, I think I’ll stay-“ He cut himself off as his visitor opened the curtain. It was not Pansy. For some bloody reason, Harry fucking Potter was here. Merlin, he never caught a break for anything. Potter at least had the decency to look uncomfortable, and Malfoy’s face reddened as he realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt.  
“What are you doing here, Potter?” It came out with far less venom than he expected, more tired than anything. Draco considered calling for Madam Pomfrey.  
“I-I just wanted to make sure you’re alright,” Potter said lamely. Draco raised his eyebrows questioningly. “You took a hell of a beating.” Potter tried for a smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.  
“Yes, well, things happen. Not the first time, probably not the last either.” Draco tried for flippancy, but a wave of irritation washed over him as well. He was tired of all this, just wanted a peaceful year for once in his bloody life.  
“I wanted- well Hermione told me to- anyways, have you spoken about this to McGonagall?” Potter stumbled over his words.  
“You told Granger about this? And the Weasel, too, no doubt. Merlin’s sake, It’ll be all over the school, the Golden Trio saving the Death Eater,” Potter winced at the mention of Death Eaters, but Draco didn’t care. He felt more awful than ever. Now that Potter knew, things were only going to get worse, younger students vying for his attention by targeting Draco. He lay back again, coughing slightly.  
“I had to, Dra-Malfoy,” Potter caught himself. “I didn’t know what else to do! Anyways, are you going to talk to McGonagall?” Draco narrowed his eyes, trying to see what Potter was playing at.  
“Potter, do you really think she gives two shits about an ex-Death Eater getting a bit of what’s coming to him?” He rolled his eyes. “No, I haven’t talked to McGonagall. And I don’t plan on it.”  
“Listen, Malfoy, I know you don’t like her, but she can help to make sure this doesn’t happen again. It isn’t right.” Draco’s head snapped up at that. Potter sounded like he almost… cared?  
“Why do you give a rat’s arse, Potter? I thought you’d be ecstatic someone finally got around to putting me in my place.” Draco let the anger seep into his voice, making sure to look Potter dead in the eyes.  
“I know we’ve never exactly gotten along,” Draco snorted at that, “but it’s not like I don’t care what happens to you. You were just a kid, like the rest of us. None of us needed to go through that, and you deserve the chance to move on from your past.” Draco looked at the Gryffindor, mouth hanging open. He hadn’t banked on Potter being so… decent.  
“I want to put the past behind us, Malfoy. We’ve been at each other’s throats for as long as I can remember.” Yeah, that was true enough. But being enemies with Potter was a constant in Draco’s universe, like the sun rising in the east. It was strange, but he felt a bit of comfort in it, a testament to how miserable his life was at present. Potter seemed to take Draco’s silence as a cue to continue.  
“We don’t have to be best mates or anything, but I’d like to get a chance to know you, honest.” He paused, thinking. “How about we just start over?”  
“What?” Draco had never been so off kilter in his life. What the fuck was going on?  
Potter took a deep breath.  
“My name is Harry Potter. And you are?” Potter held out his hand.   
Draco looked the other boy in the eyes, making sure he wasn’t joking before chuckling a little. Man, his life is strange.  
“I’m Draco Malfoy. Pleasure to meet you.”


	6. Chapter 6

“You did what?” Ron shouted, causing some first years a few seats down to jump. Harry had just told he and Hermione about his and Malfoy’s conversation in the hospital wing over dinner in the Great Hall.   
“I know! I know mate, it just felt like the right thing to do!” Harry exclaimed, frustrated. He really did feel bad for Malfoy, and why was it such a big deal to make amends? Percy had made up with the Weasleys, Pansy Parkinson and Hermione were on speaking/studying together terms, and hadn’t Harry himself vouched for Malfoy in front of the Wizengamot?   
“You don’t owe him anything, you know that right?” Ron looked at him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Has he Imperiused you?” Harry flicked him off, looking to Hermione for support. She had been oddly quiet since he’d relayed the story to them.   
“I think Harry is right, Ron,” she said slowly. “I spoke to Pansy about him in the library, and apparently this happens quite often. He refuses to ask for help, but I could tell she’s concerned.” Ron looked between the two of them, flabbergasted.   
“So, what, are we the inter-house unity club now? What happened to hating all Slytherins?” His voice had taken on a pleading tone.   
“Honestly, Ron, I think we’ve gotten a little too old for that.” She gave Harry a knowing look, which he did not understand in the slightest. “If Harry wants to befriend Malfoy, then its his decision. I, for one, think that this is a big step towards putting the past behind us,” she said with an air of finality, and promptly returned to Fantastic Beasts.   
“Fine, whatever, but if he is under the Imperius-“ Ron began.  
“Shut it!” Harry and Hermione said together, and the ginger raised his hands in surrender.   
After breakfast the next morning, Harry waved off Ron and Hermione and followed Malfoy out of the hall. He was walking alone, and none of the eighth years had class this morning, so Harry saw it as a perfect opportunity to talk to Malfoy away from prying ears.   
“Oi, Dra-Malfoy!” Harry called, awkwardly half jogging towards the Slytherin. Blimey, he’s tall, Harry thought to himself as he caught up.   
“Potter.” Malfoy said simply, and the two walked together in an awkward silence. Harry processed how weird this was, walking together after so many years of intense and mutual dislike. With great effort, he pushed those thoughts aside.   
“So, er, what are you doing this morning?” Harry cringed internally. Can’t a man make amends with his rival without embarrassing himself?   
“I thought I’d go to the library, I have rather a lot of work this week.” Malfoy said, polite but cold.   
“Mind if I join you?” Merlin, this was painful, but Harry pressed on. Malfoy looked at him, seemingly surprised, but nodded shortly. They didn’t talk until they reached the library, settling down on a pair of comfortable armchairs by the fireplace.   
They worked quietly for a time, until Malfoy noticed Harry growing increasingly frustrated at the essay he was writing.   
“Potter, you look like you’re about to spontaneously combust,” Malfoy commented.  
“It’s not my fault I’m rubbish at healing charms! Flitwick set me a foot of parchment on the theory and I haven’t the faintest idea what the fuck I’m doing.” Harry fumed, then flushed. Of course, on the first day they hung out Harry had to reveal his ineptitude, and sure enough, Malfoy arched a regal brow.   
“What charm, specifically? I know a little about healing magic.” He said modestly, shocking Harry.   
“Well-er, its for healing deep gashes,” Harry thought back to Sectumsempra, the bathroom, Draco on the floor. He could tell that Draco was recalling that particular incident as well. This was not going well.  
“Vulnera Sanentur? It’s a pretty complex spell.” Draco glossed over the moment easily, and harry was grateful. “I learned it last year, it wasn’t easy.” He rolled up the sleeves of his jumper, and Harry saw his faded Dark Mark, crisscrossed with lines. “I can explain the theory of it, if you’d like,” He offered, and Harry jumped as though he’d seen something he hadn’t supposed to.  
“Uh, yeah, I really am rubbish at healing, so if you want to, yeah.” Harry stumbled and Draco nodded at him, launching into a detailed explanation of the spell.   
“So, basically, you have to really envision what you want the spell to do. It’s not just pointing and thinking of it healed, you have to understand the process of it healing,” Malfoy finished explaining.  
“Oh, so that’s why you have to know all the anatomy stuff to be a healer!” Harry was surprised, Malfoy was actually a good teacher.   
“Yes, Potter, that why you have to know the ‘anatomy stuff’,” Malfoy smiled, and it took Harry off guard. He was actually quite… cute? When he wasn’t being all pompous.   
Quickly removing the thought of Draco Malfoy as cute, Harry just smiled back, feeling a rush of satisfaction when color rose on Malfoy’s pale cheeks.   
“Well then, I’ve got a heap of homework up in the dorms as well, and er, thanks for the help. We should do this again.” Harry was determined to control the heat that threatened to rise in his face. ‘we should do this again’? What was that all about?  
“I daresay we should, Potter.” Grey eyes met green, and it felt like Malfoy was X-raying his soul before the blonde picked up his things and began to walk away.  
“Harry.” He blurted after Malfoy. “You can call me Harry."

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is! My first fan fiction to see the light of day. Drop a comment or a kudos if you enjoy, tell me what ya'll want to see!


End file.
